


Today You're A Fae

by leyline



Series: shorts on tumblr [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Future, Future Fic, M/M, Makeup Artist Derek, Model Stiles, Modeling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:19:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4897900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leyline/pseuds/leyline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"stiles is a model at his first runway shoot, nervous af. derek is the hot make up artist "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Today You're A Fae

**Author's Note:**

> prompted by twinkwolf on tumblr

Stiles is good at this modeling business.

He should be good at it, he’s been a model for a couple of years, and okay, true, he hasn’t got that much experience in runway shows under his belt (try none), but he has had practice runs (his manager is relentless like that, always saying his time will come) and he always tries hard, he tries his damnest and when he’s not focusing on _how do you walk_ he’s actually kind of a natural at it. 

That’s what Noshiko tells him anyways. She’s his manager so he doesn’t really think she’d lie to him like that. He hopes.

He’s about to have his first runway shoot and it’s only natural that it would be one of Lydia’s shows. 

Lydia’s shows are infamous in the industry, from their edginess to their in-your-face disregard of the gender roles society imposes on an all hour basis, her shows are always featured first cover in up top magazines and somehow people at E! never seem to stray far from any of her demonstrations at how awesome her huge, developed brain is. Because it is, awesome. But Stiles still hates her right now.

He knows when he lets go, he’s good at them. Normally. 

Except tonight, tonight nothing is normal. Tonight everything is as far from normal as normal ever got to Stiles. Tonight’s freaking supernatural.

_Literally._

Lydia’s shows always have a weird theme, and this one’s no different. This one’s theme is giving Stiles a weird tick in his eye he can’t seem to get rid of.

“Hold still.” His make-up artist grunts for the third time, giving him the nasty eye.

Personally, Stiles would prefer he’d be giving him a different kind of nasty eye, because this guy? This guy is…Well, he should be the one sitting in Stiles’ seat. Getting prepped to step out there in a freaking loincloth, an inordinate amount of green glitter, slightly pointy and ragged ears and an intricate pattern of swirls, tiny fireflies, leaves and many other things the guy is currently trying to brush on Stiles’ face.

Because today Stiles is a fae. Apparently. 

Stiles shimmies a little in his seat (because his butt kind of hurts and definitely not because he wants to see the guy’s scowl again, he definitely _does not_ find that sexy) and yeah, sure as everything, there’s the furrowing of eyebrows as the guy stills his paint brush.

“Hm, sorry, dude. This cloth is kind of itchy.”

The guy rolls his eyes.

“Maybe because it’s made of twigs and whatever god knows what they found in the woods?”

His paint brush draws a firm line just below Stiles’ eyes and now he’s forced to look into the man’s eyes, which are. Whoa. Green. Like the leaves Stiles is wearing on his head. And blue? Like the ragged pieces around Stiles’ hips. And hazel, maybe? Like…

Okay, first thing’s first, he needs to stop waxing this crappy poetry about Hot Make-Up Dude immediately. He’s fighting nerves already he doesn’t have enough willpower stored to fight a boner as well!

“It’s Derek, by the way. Stop calling me dude. And stop. Moving.”

The guy actually brings up his other hand (that Stiles didn’t notice had been lying on the armrest of his chair, dangerously close to his arm. He didn’t!) to catch Stiles’ shoulder. Bare shoulder. 

It’s not because of the risk of goosebumps (it might be) but Stiles stops moving.

For a while.

“Sorry, du–“ A rapidly arched eyebrow “Derek. It’s just…It’s my first.”

A brief twitch of ( _god, enticing_ ) lips that Stiles might have just imagined. The lighting’s strong here, he might have.

“Your first time in make-up? Hardly. I’ve seen you in unedited photo shoots where you have no moles. ‘S a shame.”

That last part is whispered so lowly that Stiles isn’t even sure he made it out right. The guy may have just been saying Stiles needed a shave. Or something. They are quite close, Derek having leaned a little more forward so he can draw a pattern of dots above Stiles’ eyebrow, so maybe Derek just couldn’t keep the comment about his unwaxed eyebrows out of his mouth.

Which, alright, not a lie, but still they don’t rival Derek’s. Which have stopped pushing each other close together. And are now…relaxed. As is Derek’s mouth. Which is slightly open as Derek concentrates.

Stiles talks just to fill the place in his mind that’s going _oh my god, I’m gonna_ –

“Hm, yeah. No, actually. Actually it’s my first hum, first runway. Thing. Ever.”

But wait, Derek’s seen his photo shoots? Well, it’s not that rare…Stiles has been getting a lot of attention lately from various labels. But still his traitorous heart leaps a little at that.

Derek hmms quietly and bites his bottom lip as he changes brushes. Stiles takes that as his opportunity check out his as– ahh, rearrange his headpiece, which has fallen a little over his eyes. 

“If you hate them so much, why do them?” Derek asks as he comes back with a smaller paintbrush. 

“I don’t hate them, I just–“ He goes to scratch the back of his neck but Derek gives him a look that quite clearly says _do you want to sleep in a casket tonight_ so he drops his hand back on his lap “I guess I’m just apprehensive? As my first, good doesn’t cut it. It has to be more than great.” 

That’s what Noshiko always tells him and Stiles figures she’s kind of right.

“Plus, there’s the added fact that this is the fashion show of one of my best friends and if I mess it up she will, quite literally, roll my head in this loincloth and hang me above the catwalk as a finishing piece.”

Derek snorts but his hand stays firm where it’s drawing a smooth twirl on Stiles’ forehead now.  

“You know Lydia Martin a long time then?”

“Do you really have to know Lydia Martin more than a second for her to be intimidatingly…Intimidating?”

Derek gives him and unimpressed look but still answers “Touché.”

“Wait, you know Lydia Martin?”

Derek shrugs. “Kind of. I do a lot of works on her fiancé, Jackson Whittemore. He and I have become…Friends, I suppose?” Stiles snorts only half out of spite because yeah, that’s exactly how he feels about Jackson too. “So, she only threatens me occasionally.“

Stiles can’t stop himself from slapping Derek on the arm (that’s not holding the brush, of course) lightly. 

“Dude, I didn’t know you were friends with Jackson!” And he guesses the fact Derek’s busy brushing the other tip of the brush, the one with the sponge, against his nose is reason enough for him to let the _dude_ go “My condolences.“

Derek huffs softly. Only that and Stiles thinks it’s such a nice sound. God, he’s screwed. He sighs. Derek looks up at him from where he’s started to put the finishing touches on Stiles’ forearm so he tries to cover it up.

“Though, I mean, if it were Jackson here he’d probably be right in his realm. Douchebag smile on and everything.”

It’s Derek’s turn to snort.

“Yeah, he’d be right at home, mud in his hair, no Armani, no Gucci, no“

“Canali.” They both say at the same time.

Stiles laughs and Derek laughs along with him. It’s nice, more than so.

“He’s great at this, though.” Stiles finally breaks, because he can’t take the soft circling motions Derek’s thumb his making on his forearm, no matter that it’s an unconscious gesture. 

“You can be great too. Just, relax.”

“Relax? That’s your big advice? To just relax?”

Derek grunts.

“Great man, great advice.”

Derek grunts and suddenly straightens to cross his arms across his chest. Oh my god, what a chest. And what arms. What biceps. What everything. Oh wait, he might have just insulted his make-up artist, which, yeah, slightly of more important right now. Slightly. Because, biceps.

But when he glances up there’s a smirk on Derek’s lips and Derek’s got…He’s got bunny teeth. Fuck it all. 

“Do it like Jackson then.”

Stiles makes a weird noise with his mouth. He meant to snort. Ugh.

“Yeah, right. My first runway and suddenly I’m some Abercrombie and Fitch guy with a magical jawline.”

Derek scowls at him.

“You’re hot. And sexy and everything else.” He says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He says it so matter-of-factly that it makes Stiles notice the butterflies in his stomach have gone. Or rather, they’ve been replaced by this weird heat that…He will ignore right now because _he has to_.

“And it’s not that hard, you just do it like this.” 

Derek reaches for the sunglasses he left on the makeup stand’s desk (which almost gave Stiles an heart attack when he saw them _on Derek_ as he came towards him and sat him down on that cursed chair) and puts them on. 

He exaggeratedly squares his shoulders. Then he starts walking. He walks to the end of the room and when he gets there he turns back to Stiles and takes off his sunglasses in quick movement, giving him this smouldering look, wooded eyelids and all, that is so alike Jackson’s face (still somehow makes Stiles squirm in his seat, because, duh, Derek) that Stiles can’t help but double over himself and start laughing loudly. 

Derek bites his lips sheepishly and ducks his head in a laugh as he walks back to Stiles and puts the sunglasses back on the desk. 

Stiles is suddenly caught between arousal and asphyxiation. 

“You’ll ruin the make-up.” Derek huffs but he can’t hide his smile for long.

Stiles finally stops laughing what seems like ten minutes later (but can’t be because Lydia would have surely come for him herself by then) and looks up at Derek, who reaches out to rub his shoulder.

“Better, then?”

Stiles nods because really, what else is he going to do? Hoist Derek up on the desk, by the back of his legs maybe, sounds like a great idea but his walk is about to start and honestly, Stiles’ ideas all seem great before he’s actually, you know, enacting them. 

Also there’s the make-up. 

The make-up that Derek’s not done with. 

Make-up.

Yeah.

Derek’s hand is still rubbing circles on Stiles’ (bare, very bare) shoulder.

“My arm…”

Derek blushes. _He blushes._ And this time it’s not the lighting. AH! Stiles is totally asking him out later. After he’s made sure to woo Derek by owning the catwalk.

“Right. I’m getting to it.” 

By the time Stiles can do anything other than grin down at Derek, the make-up artist is done with his work.

Stiles gets out of the chair to check it out on the mirror and he gasps.

“Oh my god.” He goes to touch the lines, twirls and dots of whatever Derek painted on his face but stops himself at the last minute. He really doesn’t want to ruin it because Derek spent a lot of time in it. And hum, it’s Lydia’s show and she’d kill him. So he just stands there angling his face and body from side to side “Oh my god. Dude. You made this hot!”

Seriously, they look like tattoos. Cool tattoos. There’s a spatter effect on his face that makes it seems as if he’s got stars all around it. Derek is a god. He gets why Lydia hired him.

Derek is staring at him open mouthed when someone comes to rush Stiles to the entrance of the catwalk. He tries to turn around and say something in the lines of, oh, he doesn’t know, his phone number maybe, but the grip on his arm is really strong (women. They scare Stiles.) and he loses track of Derek meanwhile.

When he gets to the entrance Lydia gives him a harsh, long once-over and finally nods.

“Perfect. Get your ass in there and make yourself look good.”

“Don’t you mean make _you_ look good?” He grumbles as he straightens himself and his loincloth up. Lydia slaps his hands away.

His shoulders feel relaxed and it’s like…Like he’s not even nervous anymore. Huh.

Lydia purses her lips and throws back her hair with a shake of her head. “My designs already did that. Don’t trip.”

She’s a sport, that one.

∞゜*・。*。・゜*゜・ ∞゜*・。*。・゜*゜・∞゜*・。*。・゜*゜・∞゜*・。*。・゜*゜・∞゜*・。*。・゜*゜・∞゜*・。*。・゜*゜・ ∞゜*・。*。・゜*゜・∞゜*・。*。・゜*゜・∞゜*・。*。・゜*゜・∞゜*・。*。・゜*゜・

 

When he comes back from _totally owning_ that catwalk (so he might have fist-bumped the air as he was turning back around, big deal) he’s euphoric and apparently with good reason because Lydia is there to hug him and congratulate him, despite his protests.

”Oh, make-up be damned, it’s over and you were amazing!”

He hasn’t heard her shriek with such happiness in a while. It makes his grin hurt his face.

They go back to the catwalk so Lydia can show everyone her complete designs, all together in one big, beautiful picture, mirroring her smile. 

Stiles comes backstage to wander aimlessly in search of Derek.

He doesn’t find him.

 

∞゜*・。*。・゜*゜・ ∞゜*・。*。・゜*゜・∞゜*・。*。・゜*゜・∞゜*・。*。・゜*゜・∞゜*・。*。・゜*゜・∞゜*・。*。・゜*゜・ ∞゜*・。*。・゜*゜・∞゜*・。*。・゜*゜・∞゜*・。*。・゜*゜・∞゜*・。*。・゜*゜・

 

The morning after. The terrible, evil, brooding morning after. Stiles used to love those, because in college those meant he had gotten laid last night.

Today, they mean he drank a little with Lydia and his colleagues during the after-party, which was more of an after-celebration (which Derek was very much absent of), and then left early because he couldn’t get a certain bearded man with magic hands that made him feel hot, in many different ways, out of his mind.

Pathetic, really. Stiles has made up his mind. He _hates_ runway shows.

For Stiles there’s only one way to rid himself of the misery of mornings and that’s coffee, so he gets dressed and quests the streets for some much needed caffeine. 

It’s just that his quest didn’t really include him slamming chest to chest into a man that was rounding the corner at the same time he was.

“Sorry, man, I didn’t know– Derek.”

Derek adjusts the strap of his messenger bag (dude uses a messenger bag, someone has to stop this man) and helps Stiles straighten up. 

There goes the hand on the shoulder again. Why is Stiles’ life so– 

“You did. You guys met yesterday at a runway show?”

And that was…That was clearly Derek’s go at a joke because his bunny teeth have made yet another unexpected (but greatly appreciated) appearance, hello, and Stiles has to swipe a hand across his eyes because it’s too early in the morning for this much sunshine. 

That’s when his eyes land on something that’s threatening to fall off Derek’s bag.

“Hm, careful, you’ve got something–” 

Stiles’ dad constantly warns him about his lack of personal boundaries and he’s probably right because just reaching out and taking something from someone else’s bag is probably not adequate adult behavior but hm, Stiles is an adult in progress.

Derek’s eyes widen visibly and Stiles squints at him as he hands him the magazine he just took out when he notices what’s on the front page. Or rather, who. Because he knows those eyes and that mouth and those moles, duh, he sees those on his bathroom mirror every day so yep.

Yep. That’s him. On the front page of a magazine. That Derek just bought.

“Huh.” Stiles smirks at him and watches as Derek’s throat bobs.

“I– I liked…”

“The next word out of your mouth better be me.”

Derek’s eyes widen so much that, oh my god, he looks like some kind of Disney character, a Bambi impersonator of sorts and Stiles just. He was going to be wooing Derek in a second, he swears he was.

“Well, not me, but you. As in the next word ‘you’, as in me…Oh my god, I’m not good at this. I thought I was but then you– “ He waves his hands, letting them hover over Derek’s, well, everything, really, physic and brain and soul and _eyes and adorable early humor_ “And your– I was trying to be smooth!”

Derek dips his chin towards his chest while he smiles and then looks up at Stiles.

Goodbye world.

“Want to go get coffee? I know a great place.” Derek drops his voice and leans closer in to whisper a mock secret “It’s my house.”

Stiles laughs with his whole body at that.

Derek’s house is such a great place that Stiles never leaves.


End file.
